Julie Fay: Accidents will happen

Saturday

Mar 28, 2009 at 12:01 AMMar 28, 2009 at 6:54 AM

After changing diapers for the better part of six years, it’s been wonderful to have them out of my life. Timmy joined his older siblings in wearing big-kid undies about a year and a half ago, and he’s never looked back.

Julie Fay

After changing diapers for the better part of six years, it’s been wonderful to have them out of my life. Timmy joined his older siblings in wearing big-kid undies about a year and a half ago, and he’s never looked back.

So it was a little disturbing last month when Timmy started having accidents. All would be quiet in the house – too quiet, in retrospect – and then he would take off for the bathroom in a sprint. Shortly thereafter, I’d hear him cheerfully call out, "Mommy, I need help!''

Usually the damage was mild, and he’d just need a change of underwear, while I washed out the old and put it in the laundry. I’d talk with him about getting to the bathroom next time before things got out of control, so to speak, and he’d be all smiles, promising to keep his undies clean.

He continued to have accidents, however, so I started reminding him to avail himself of the facilities at regular intervals. That seemed to help, and I all but forgot about his few days of timing challenges.

Then, Timmy and Brian were invited on a play date after preschool last week. The mom and I are friendly, and we enjoyed chatting while the kids played cars and pantomimed Guitar Hero. I reminded both boys to use the bathroom once, and all was going smoothly. Things were starting to wind down when I heard it: thump thump thump thump thump.

The sound of a stockinged-feet preschooler racing toward the bathroom was unmistakable. I held my breath, waiting for Timmy to call out for help. What I heard instead was even worse.

"Mommy, I don’t know where the hamper is!''

Oh, no. I could only imagine the carnage on the other side of the door. I raced toward the bathroom.

There was Timmy, calmly enthroned, chin in his hands. He looked at me with a shrug.

"Mommy, I need to put my clothes in the laundry but I don’t see the hamper.''

Choosing not to explain that hampers are home-specific, I silently thanked the host mom, who was blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in her powder room, for not having a hamper in plain sight. I braced myself for the inspection.

It was bad, but accidents happen. I was sure I could borrow some clean clothes from our little friend. And then I saw it. A spot. About the size of a dime. On the rug. Beam me up, Scotty.

"Uh, Jane?'' I called, tentatively.

"Yes?'' came the breezy, unsuspecting reply.

Somehow I managed to convey the situation to her without vaporizing from embarrassment. She gingerly took the rug and put it in the washer, found two plastic bags in which to wrap Timmy’s clothes, and even produced a pair of lime-green sweat pants in Timmy’s size. The woman was unflappable, as was Timmy, who pulled on the chartreuse bellbottoms and went back to Guitar Hero without missing a beat.

Apparently, I was the only one involved who would have rather been having a root canal. The mom is still speaking to me. My boys and their little friend are still great pals. The spot came out of the rug, and I got the green bells back to their rightful owner in short order.

Best of all, mommy’s little stinker has found his timing again. He’s our underwear hero once more.